


Supernova

by Kay_kat



Series: What Lies Beneath [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and breakfast foods, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Hurt/Comfort, No Really There's Angst, Poor Dan, Temporary Character Death, Violence, comic influence, dealing with death, established deckerstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-16 02:52:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17541272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kay_kat/pseuds/Kay_kat
Summary: A few years into Chloe and Lucifer's relationship. They're happy. Life is good, that is until a tragic event causes them to be torn from each other's lives.[COMPLETE]





	1. Can't Help Falling in Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SunBathingDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunBathingDragon/gifts).



> I apologise in advance, I guess I was feeling angsty when I came up with the idea for this story. Not to worry though, there will be a happy ending!  
> This story is a gift to my good friend SunBathingDragon, this was the story I told you about a while back and I fully intended to write it all and let you read it first but, I got excited and wanted to post it. So, this is for you. :)
> 
> Chapter title credit goes to Elvis Presley.

 

That morning starts like any other.

She wakes next to him. Breathing in his scent, basking in his heat as she snuggles closer to him, carding her fingers through his soft, dark curls. He rouses, humming sleepily, pulling her hand closer to him, peppering it with soft kisses.

“Morning sleepyhead,” she says smiling, as she nuzzles the back of his neck.

A happy little grumble slips from his lips and he replies, “Mornin’,” his voice thick with sleep, his eyelids still heavy. “Five more minutes,” he slurs, snuggling into her arms.

She laughs a little, leaning over to kiss his stubbled cheek. “I have to go to work,” she sighs, wishing she didn’t. Planting a last kiss on his cheek she extricates herself from his tangle of long limbs, pulling the covers up over him as he dozes peacefully.

She can feel his eyes on her, following her movements as she ambles around the bedroom, collecting her clothes for the day.

“Do you really?” He blinks several times, stretching as she walks around the bed, stopping at his side. “Can’t you take the day off?” He pouts a little, looking up at her with those big, brown, puppy dog eyes. “’N stay in bed with me,” he yawns, patting the empty space next to him.

His offer is very hard to resist, however she’s sure she would never make it into work again if she gives into him. She leans down, stroking his face and kisses him gently on the lips, pulling away slightly she says, “I’ll make it up to you later,” to which he smiles, and she makes her way into the bathroom.

 

 “Or,” he says sliding into the shower behind her, “you could make it up to me now.”

She laughs, throwing her head back as his lips meet the tender skin of her neck, trailing hungry kisses up along her jawline. His strong hands roam the valleys of her body, slender fingers exploring the rise and fall of her, leaving a trail of fire in their wake despite the heat of the water raining down on them. A groan slips from her lips as he nips at her neck, his tongue darting out to soothe the skin and then presses his lips against her pulse point.

His head rests on her shoulder as he wraps his arms around her middle, the muscles in his arms tensing against her stomach. He doesn’t resist when she pulls one hand away from her, taking it in hers, bringing it to her lips, pressing kisses into his palm as she turns in his embrace. He stares back at her, a soft smile on his lips, his sparkling, soulful eyes filled with adoration. Looking at her like she’s the sun.

Water drips from his dark, sodden curls, running down his face as he ducks his head to meet her lips. She hooks a hand around his neck, finding purchase to pull herself closer to him, pressing deeper, revelling in the taste of him. Her hand snakes up, her fingers running through his wet hair, nails scraping against his scalp as he nips at her bottom lip. She presses her free hand against his heart, water splaying around it, and gently pushes, pulling away. “I’m gonna be late if you carry on like this,” she says breathlessly, a smirk on her lips because the idea really doesn’t sound like a bad one, but she knows she has to stop herself.

A sultry smile dances across his features as he runs his tongue across his teeth, waggling his eyebrows at her. “Sounds _splendid_ to me,” he says and then he adds, his voice dropping half an octave, a deep rumble in his chest, “ _Chloe….”_

Her name on his lips always makes her heart flutter like a mad thing in her chest. Heat pools in her belly, her skin tingling in anticipation of his feathery touches. Damn her body for betraying her.

She cups his cheek, pulling her thumb across his neatly trimmed stubble. His smirk fades replaced with that smile he reserves just for her as she pulls him down resting her forehead against his. Their short breaths mingle in the space between them, so close that the heat from his teases her skin. They stay like that, surrounded by the pitter-patter of the water falling around them. Her eyes flutter closed, focusing on the feel of his skin against hers. The taste of him still on her lips. The soft, rhythmic thud of his heart against her palm. “I love you,” she breathes.

“And I you.”

 

“At least have some breakfast,” he says, waving a spatula in the air in front of him as she dashes around the kitchen, desperately searching for her keys.

He’s stopped stirring whatever mixture he’s making, leaning against the counter, eyeing her as she darts around gathering her files and bags which were hastily dumped in haphazard piles the night before. She looks up at him, his eyebrow raised as he looks at her as if to say ' _what’s the rush?'_ Her eyes linger over his lean figure, his white shirt clings to him in all the right places. His sleeves are rolled up allowing her an unrestricted view of the muscles in his forearm dancing as he twirls the spatula between his fingers.

“You’re going to be late anyway, may as well enjoy it,” he adds with a little shrug.

She sighs, rubbing a hand over her forehead. “I really have to go, Lucifer.” She glances around the room and adds, “W _here the Hell_ are my damn keys?!”

“In the jacket pocket of your camel coat,” he says, pointing towards the couch in the living room, “I believe it’s on the floor behind the sofa.”

 _Ah._ She rounds the couch, picking up her jacket off the floor remembering how they’d practically fallen through the door late last night, tearing each other’s clothes off, letting them land where they may. They _really_ have to stop doing that.

“Got ‘em,” she announces, holding them up triumphantly.

He smiles at her, sliding a plate across the breakfast bar. “Crêpe?”

She eyes it. It’s loaded with whipped cream and strawberries with a thin drizzle of chocolate syrup over the top. Her stomach rumbles, a stark reminder of how hungry she is. Sighing she sits down and takes the plate. Five minutes really isn’t going to make much of a difference now is it? “Thank you,” she says, leaning up as he meets her across the counter to peck him on the lips. The distinct taste of chocolate syrup lingers on his lips. “Have you been drinking the syrup again?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

He folds his arms and shrugs a little. “Maybe….” A wide grin splits his face, “What can I say, the Devil has a sweet tooth.”

She chuckles and digs into her crêpe feeling her worry about being late ease somewhat as Lucifer stands at the cooker preparing his own, humming a tune that sounds familiar, but she can’t quite put her finger on.

 

She arrives at work late. Surprise, surprise. Luckily the Lieutenant doesn’t appear to be in and the worst she has to contend with is a disapproving look from Dan. Ever since she and Lucifer had started living together, her punctuality had gone downhill somewhat.

Sighing, she sinks down at her desk, casting a mournful stare at the pile of paperwork that sits in the corner. With a world-weary huff she grabs the top file and gets to work. It isn’t long before her concentration begins to waver, and she finds her eyes flitting between the empty chair beside her and the steps into the precinct. He’d told her he’d be in later, that he had something to take care of first. She’d only been in an hour or two, but she can’t help herself. It sounds silly even to her, but she misses him when he’s not here. Over the past few years she’s grown so used to having him near in every aspect of her life.

At first, she’d had her doubts about being in a relationship with him. She hadn’t been sure whether he was capable of monogamy, given his notorious playboy ways, and she couldn’t have her heart broken. Not by him. So, they’d taken it slow and he took to it all surprisingly well. It had taken her a while but, eventually she’d decided once and for all that she could trust him fully. Of course, he still thinks he’s the Devil and whatever trauma from his past had caused that clearly still affects him badly. It seemed to take him just as long, if not longer, to trust her with his heart. He struggles so much to share his feelings, to let himself be vulnerable around her, but they are working on it together. She will love him no matter what anyway. He is her everything and she can’t picture life without him.

 

~

 

Lucifer arrives at the precinct and spots Chloe through the plexiglass dividers at her desk, talking on the phone. She hasn’t noticed him yet; she's too absorbed in the conversation she’s having. He glances into the lab and spots Miss Lopez, her head bobbing to some no doubt questionable music choice. With a quick look to check Chloe hasn’t yet seen him, he strides over to the lab and slips inside.

An upbeat, bouncy melody he doesn’t recognise fills the air. For a moment the Forensic Scientist doesn’t seem to notice him, her focus occupied with whatever sample she’s examining whilst her body sways to the rhythmic sounds. She turns from her sample, her groove not faltering for even a second, and almost jumps out of her skin, her hand clutching her chest when she sees him standing by the door.

“Lucifer!” she shouts. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

She reaches over turning the volume on her speaker down so that the music plays softly in the background, not so loud as to impede their conversation.

“Apologies,” he says, sheepishly wringing his hands together, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It wasn’t my intention to frighten you.”

Steping closer to him she lightly brushes her hand against his forearm and beams up at him. “Naaaah. It’s my own fault for having my music too loud, no need to apologise.” When he just smiles back at her she adds, “Anyway, did you need something?”

“Actually, yes…” he hesitates, shifting his weight from foot to foot, not quite sure how to broach the topic. He and Miss Lopez have become quite close in their time working together. She’s sweet and kind. She reminds him a lot of his sister who he misses more than he’d ever admit to anyone. “I consider you a close friend.”

Her brow creases a little at the seemingly random statement, but it fades quickly, and she graces him with a wide smile.

“As such, I wondered if I might gauge your opinion on… something.”

The smile on her grows wider, her lips parting and eyes gleaming. “Of course! Anything!”

He rubs his neck, uncertainty flooding him. “I… well, you see, I…” he stammers then briefly closes his eyes, taking a steadying breath. “Oh, bloody Hell.” Reaching into his jacket pocket he grabs the small box and pulls it out, quickly flipping the lid open to display the gleaming ring inside. “I want to ask Chloe for her hand in marriage.”

Lucifer had never thought himself to be the marrying kind. He’d never truly understood the concept of humans wedding one another, of giving a vow that ties them down to one person. Monogamy had always seemed boring and pointless to him. That was until he met Chloe. At first, he thought he might miss the variety that came with his debauchery filled nights but, no. He doesn’t want anyone but Chloe. She is his everything. She’s said before that she knows he isn’t the marrying kind and she’s fine with it but, he knows deep down she’s disappointed. He can’t make her tell him what she truly desires as he can with most other humans, but over the years he’s gotten the hang of reading her emotions. Of being able to sense what she’s feeling. Or so he thinks anyway. It’s hard to tell sometimes.

He wants to do it for her but if he’s honest with himself, he wants it too.

Lucifer hadn’t thought it possible for Ella’s wide smile to grow any larger but, it does. Her mouth hangs open as she all but jumps up and down on the spot. “OH. MY. GOD.”

He grimaces at the use of the ‘G’ word but lets it slide just this once. He is asking something of her after all.

She takes a few steps, quickly crowding him, staring down at the sparkling ring before she looks back up to him, an expectant gleam in her eyes. “It’s beautiful, Lucifer.” And then she throws her arms around him, pulling him close to her, his arms awkwardly sandwiched between them. He supposes he should’ve seen it coming after all this time.

After a weak effort to extricate himself from her surprisingly strong grasp fails, he sighs and lets it happen. What seems like an eternity later, she pulls away. He quickly closes the ring box and stows it safely back in his inside pocket.

“So, when are you gonna pop the question?”

He swallows and clears his throat. “Ah. Right. Well… that’s what I wanted to ask you. I’m not quite sure how to go about it.”

Her face lights up and she spreads her arms wide. He takes an involuntary step backwards fearing that she means to embrace him again. “Awr, dude! You want to ask _me_ for help with this? I’m honoured,” she says with a bright smile as she grabs his arms and gently pulls him into one of the chairs.

He simply nods, listening intently as she dives into a lengthy explanation as to what the perfect proposal should be like. An idea quickly forms in his head and soon he’s up again, thanking Miss Lopez for her help with a winning smile.

 

 ~

 

“Detective!”

She looks up at him, a smile creeping to her lips when she sees the man she loves bouncing towards her with a beaming smile on his face. “Hey, you,” she says, her smile widening as his brown eyes twinkle down at her. The expression on his face when he looks at her makes her feel like a goddess, so filled with love and adoration. She’s not sure how she ever felt any differently about him. Glancing at the clock she adds, “You’re early. Everything okay?”

“Of course,” he says, “I was just wondering if, well,” his expression turns sheepish and he fiddles with his ring, radiating nervous energy. “I thought as Daniel still has the Spawn maybe you’d like to go out tonight?” He swallows, still fidgeting on the spot. She briefly wonders why he seems so nervous. “With me, I mean,” he adds quickly.

She can’t help but laugh a little at how awkward he appears when it contrasts so sharply with how usually confident he is. “Like date night?”

He bobs his head, humming in response.

“Sounds great,” she smiles, rising from her desk and holding a file out to him.

“Perfect,” he replies with a cocky smile, his confidence coming back with renewed vigour as he takes the file from her and flips through, quickly scanning the information.

“New case, come on,” she brushes his arm as she walks past him heading for the parking lot, a smirk creeping to her face when she hears his hurried footsteps falling in line beside her.

 

They arrive at the crime scene, a dank, dirty little alley outside of a warehouse that looks like it hasn’t been used for anything official in many, many years. Judging by the number of needles and medical waste littering the floor she’d make a safe guess that it’s usually a hotspot for junkies. Lucifer kicks at a discarded syringe and turns his nose up, sniffing in disgust.

“I never did care for amphetamines, terribly messy business. Not worth the trouble,” he says nonchalantly with a dramatic flick of his wrist.

Chloe can only shake her head, rolling her eyes a little. Most of the time it was easy to forget about his past, about the excessive partying and drug use he partook in when they’d first met. Over the course of working together though it had slowly dwindled out. He’s changed a lot since then. Since he’d moved in with her, he’d cut down on the nights he spent at Lux and often came home earlier than she expected. In some ways it made her feel a little guilty, like he was doing it for her. When she probed him on it though he’d simply stated that he’d rather be with her than being ogled by strangers. That didn’t stop her feeling bad though, she knew how much he loved his piano and how much he loved to sing. It made her feel like she was taking something away from him. Perhaps they could spend more time at the penthouse when Dan had Trixie?

Quickly filing her thoughts away for later, she returns her attention to the crime scene. A well-dressed man lays on the dirty concrete floor. His nice sky blue shirt, sweater vest and shiny dress shoes make him look completely out of place in the filthy alley, well, aside from the obvious multiple gunshot wounds to his stomach and the blood that pools beneath him, soaking his clothing through. “What’ve we got Ella?”

Ella looks up at the pair from her position crouched over the body, her expression filled with sorrow. “Looks like a robbery gone wrong, poor dude was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She gives a sympathetic shake of her head and adds, “The spouse hasn’t stopped crying since I got here.”

Chloe turns to see the blonde woman sat on the back of an ambulance at the other end of the alley, an orange shock blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her sobs echoing in the small space. Her heart squeezes painfully for the woman. Losing her father had been the most difficult time in her life. She misses him terribly, holidays were always the worst. The times when she knew he would have been present. Losing someone who’s next to you all the time though… your partner, she glances at Lucifer, even the thought is unbearable. It’d be like having half your life ripped away.

“Anything on the shooter?” She asks, tearing herself away from the unpleasant thought.

Ella shakes her head. “Nope. The wife said he ran when he heard sirens, said he had a bum leg so he can’t have gotten far. Unis are searching the area but so far,” she shrugs, “nada.”

Lucifer hums and wanders down the alley, popping his head into the nearby entrance to the warehouse. He’s uncharacteristically quiet and that worries her. He’s only quiet when something is wrong. “Lucifer?” she asks coming up behind him once she’s done her once over of the scene. “Everything okay?”

He spins on his heel to meet her gaze, plastering a winning smile on his handsome face. “Never better, Love,” he chirps.

She frowns when his hand seems to unconsciously touch his jacket pocket. “You sure?”

He nods, his dark eyes twinkling and smile never faltering.

“Okay. I’m gonna head inside to look around. You coming?”

Humming an affirmative, he falls in step beside her.

 

Mid-way through searching the building she hears Lucifer let out a hefty sigh.

“What is it?” she asks.

Stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets, he turns to her. “Isn’t there anyone else that could be doing this? Surely the man has long gone by now.”

“I know you’re bored but we don’t have any other leads right now. And yes, he’s probably gone, but he might have dropped something or left something that could lead us to him.” She shakes her head at her immature partner, in some ways he really hasn’t changed at all. “You can go wait in the car while I look if you want.”

“No,” he says quickly, putting his hand on the handle of the door to what would have once been an office. The once golden coloured plaque adorning it now rusted and chipped making the name unreadable.

She quickly places a hand on his arm and he freezes. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem… I don’t know, _off_ , I guess.”

“I assure you, Detective, I’m perfectly fine.” He smiles softly at her and she can’t help but smile back. They were long past the days when he’d called her ‘Detective’ more than her given name, but it had become somewhat of an endearment. “I was just… _eager_ to finish this case so that we might clock off early for a change.” He sighs again.

Giving his arm a light squeeze she steps a little bit closer and leans up to place a soft kiss on his stubbled cheek. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

He grins back at her, like a child who has been told they can pick out a toy at the toy store.

And then, faster than her brain can comprehend, everything turns to shit. Disaster strikes like a lightning bolt making her worst nightmares a horrible reality.

Lucifer’s hand presses down on the door handle and almost immediately the door swings open from the inside. The crazed gunman appears in the door, shoving past them. Chloe reaches for her gun but stumbles backwards, falling over her own feet to the cold hard floor.

She just sees Lucifer grab the man’s arm. The light reflects off the Glock as he waves it about in Lucifer’s direction. The man struggles as Lucifer refuses to let go of him and then a gunshot rings out, splitting through the air. And another. And another. Three in quick succession, near deafening her.

She scrambles to her feet but it’s too late, the man is running and Lucifer stands staring blankly after him, the red stain on his shirt growing larger by the second. His hand twitches in front of him, his brow furrowing. Confusion clouds his deep, soulful eyes as Chloe looks at him in horror.

“Chloe…?” he asks before his long legs give way beneath him and he falls with a thud to the concrete.

She throws herself down beside him, blinking compulsively as tears blur her vision. Her lip trembles as her eyes flit over him. Three, point blank gunshot wounds to his stomach. There’s no way she can stop the bleeding and she knows it, but she isn’t going to just give up. She can’t.

So, she presses her hands to the wounds. Blood coats her fingers a deep crimson. “Lucifer,” she says, her voice tiny, lost in a swirl of desperation and fear, “Lucifer, look at me. You’re going to be okay. Okay?” She’s not sure who she’s trying to reassure more, him or herself.

He blinks sluggishly. His beautiful brown eyes bore into her, but they lack their usual sparkle, instead looking dull and glassy. “’Kay….”

The tears begin to fall and she’s powerless to stop them.

“Don’t,” he rasps, his hand twitching as he reaches out for her face but fall short. “Don’t cry. Please.”

“Lucifer, I can’t,” she shakes her head, not taking her eyes off his face for a second. His beautiful, stupid face.

His hand manages to find its way on top of hers and he squeezes weakly. “’S okay… I’ll find you.”

“No. Don’t you _dare_ leave me Lucifer, you’re staying right here. You hear me? You’re not going anywhere.” She says it with more confidence than she feels, tears stinging her cheeks as they roll free, dropping onto his hand below.

In the back of her mind she vaguely registers hurried footsteps behind her, echoing off the concrete and shouting. She doesn’t pay much attention though, her focus is on the man in front of her. The man she loves.

Leaning over him, she presses her forehead to his. His lips quirk into a small smile though his face is tense and pained.

“Chloe… ‘m sorry,” he manages to mumble just loud enough that she can hear him.

“No.” Her hand holds his cheek. All the colour has drained from his skin leaving him looking pale and hollow, his lips tinged a shade of blue. She knows what it all means, in this line of work she’s seen it before. He’s past the point of no return. She knows that. She does. She just can’t accept it. “No, Lucifer, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

She gently presses her lips to his, shocked when she feels how cold they feel against hers. “I love you,” she says for the last time as she pulls away. He somehow stares back at her with the same wonder in his eyes as the first time she’d said those words to him.

“’ Love you,” he takes a shaky breath, tiny droplets of red splattering his lips as he hacks out a rattling cough, “always, Chloe….”

His eyes drift closed for the last time. Her hands tighten on his jacket as she senselessly shakes his limp body, an ugly sob finally escaping her lips as she collapses onto him.

“Lucifer, please,” she sobs, burying her head in his shoulder. “Please,” she begs, the overwhelming sense of grief that washes over her too much to cope with. “I can’t—” She starts but finds herself unable to finish, crumbling into an incoherent, sobbing mess.

In that moment she doesn’t know how she can go on without him. Her partner, her best friend, her everything. But she has to because he’s gone.

Just like that.

Torn from her life.

Gone.

And it feels like nothing will ever be the same again.  


	2. All I Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe struggles to face her new reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When you said your last goodbye  
> I died a little bit inside  
> I lay in tears in bed all night  
> Alone without you by my side  
> But If you loved me  
> Why did you leave me"
> 
> From the song 'All I Want' by Kodaline. Very emotional song. I recommend you listen to it if you haven't before.

She stays like that for who knows how long, hunched over him, desperately clinging to the fabric of his expensive jacket. Her sobs echo in the sparse room, but she doesn’t hear them. The chaos that surrounds her drowned out, muted by the all-consuming sense of emptiness that weighs down her soul. She squeezes her eyes shut, her breathing ragged a she rests her forehead on his shoulder.

He can’t be gone. This _can’t_ be happening.

Lucifer had always seemed larger than life… invincible. His confidence, his fearlessness. Sometimes she almost found herself believing he really was the Devil.

Now she wishes that were true. Because she wouldn’t be here crying over the body of the man she loves.  

And why… _why_ does everything always happen to her? Why can’t the universe let her be happy?

Her sobs subside somewhat leaving her shaky and breathless. When she pulls herself up, cracking her eyes open to see his unnaturally pale, hollow face, fresh tears spring to her eyes. She didn’t think she had it in her to cry again, but she can’t stop. Her world has fallen apart around her and now it feels like all she can do is wallow in the crumbled remains.

A strong hand gently clasps her shoulder, somewhat grounding her back in reality. The buzz of activity slowly fades back in. She can hear someone crying somewhere behind her. Hear the hushed whispers between officers not meant for her ears.

_“Wasn’t that the guy who thought he was the Devil?”_

It makes her want to stand and scream at them. How _dare_ they talk about him. They didn’t know him. She knew him and he was sweet and kind and it doesn’t matter what people say about him because she _loved_ him.

“Chloe?” Dan asks softly as she registers for the first time that his hands are on her, gently prising her away from Lucifer. She doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t want to leave him. How can she just leave him here, in this filthy place on the cold, hard floor? She can’t.

So, she shakes her head, pulling herself free from the other man’s grasp and settles herself back beside Lucifer. Dan is the only one in her immediate proximity, the area around them remaining clear. Like they’ve all drawn an invisible line not to cross lest they get too close and set off the grieving woman. Or maybe they’re just keeping their distance to safely talk about her behind her back like they always have done. Ever since Palmetto all they’d done is talk about her in their little gossip circles like they’re all in _fucking high school._

She’s pissed at the lot of them. She’s pissed at the universe and she’s pissed at him for leaving her.

Dropping her head into her hands, an unbidden pained cry escapes her lips.

Dan kneels beside her. She hears his sharp intake of breath and feels his eyes on her, deciding how to handle her, as if she’s some delicate thing that might break if he’s too rough.

“Chloe,” he says in a hushed voice, placing a hand on her back. She jerks away from his touch, feeling the wrongness of it. She doesn’t want to be touched by him, by anyone that isn’t Lucifer. Not now. Not here. Dan doesn’t push further as she shuffles herself on the ground to put her closer to Lucifer. “Chloe, I know this must be…” he faulters and she looks up to meet his face. There’s sorrow in his eyes, unhappy creases in his face. Despite all his proclaimed hatred for Lucifer in the beginning she knows that they’d become… at least something akin to _friends_ over the past few years. “Look, I _can’t_ imagine what this must be like for you right now. No one should have to go through this Chloe, especially not you, not again.” There’s a pause. She hears him take a breath, trying to steady the wobble that’s worked its way into his voice. “Let me take you home. You can’t stay here, Chlo.”

“I don’t want to go,” she whispers, scooping up Lucifer’s hand in hers. It’s heavy and cold and it feels _so wrong,_ but it’s him.

“I know,” he responds, still letting her do what she has to even though they both know damn well that this is a crime scene now. He glances around and sees that the other officers are giving them space then looks back to her. “Take your time. I’ll be right here, okay?”

She nods, appreciating his understanding even though she knows he can’t understand.

Taking a breath, she presses her hand to his, now still, chest. She wants to say something, but she doesn’t know what. Not that he would hear her anyway. “Lucifer,” she starts, feeling her lip tremble as she tries to take in every miniscule detail of him. She wants to remember his face, remember every perfect imperfection. Wants to remember the feel of his forehead against hers, the soft, warm caress of his lips, the feel of his hands on her. “I love you, with all my heart.”

His last words echo in her mind causing a pain where her heart used to be.

_“Always, Chloe….”_

Leaning down she awkwardly wraps her arms around his waist, holding him close to her for what she knows will be the last time. “I will always love you.”

Something digs into her ribs as she leans over him to place her head on his chest and she frowns. Something in his jacket pocket. Sitting back on her haunches she quickly slides her hand into his pocket, her fingers brushing the velvety surface of the foreign object. Her fingers close around the item and she immediately recognises the shape. Pulling it out, she keeps it concealed in her hand, not wanting to see the truth that in her mind she already knows. Not yet. Not here. Maybe not ever because it just hurts too much.

She feels a hand settle on her shoulder. A smaller, more delicate touch. Ella. She turns to face her, the box still safely held in both hands.

“Chloe,” she breathes. Her mascara is smeared, her eyes red and blood shot from crying. Her lips part as their eyes meet, a silent mutual exchange of grief that she appreciates more than any words that could be said. And then she’s enveloped in a hug. She lets herself sink into her friend’s shoulder, finding some semblance of comfort in the embrace.

 

Eventually Ella leads her away, saying their last goodbye together. She leads her outside, her arm gently wrapped around her shoulders. Dan trails behind like a lost sheep, whether to give them their privacy or to have his own, she can’t be certain.

She takes her to the back of the ambulance, sitting her down and gently wipes the blood from her hands. Neither of them say anything though Ella manages a sad little smile. Only sorrow in her features. She manages to get most of the red that stains her skin off, but traces still linger beneath her nails.

Ella gives her a last hug when they reach the car. The girl’s tears wet her shoulder, prickling her skin as she holds her tightly against her. It takes all her remaining strength to wrap her arms around her in turn. A numbness has taken hold, making her feel like she’s walking around in a daze. Like she’s experiencing everything from outside of her own body. Feeling more like she’s in some horrible dream than present in her new, harsh reality. She knows that’s not true though.

_This is real._

The words echo in her mind. An unwelcome reminder of what once was and isn’t any longer. Those words he’d said in the beginning with such uncertainty… such love.

And she’d sob again or scream or shout or anything if she could, but she can’t. She doesn’t have it in her. Instead she just lets herself be held and guided to the car.

 

Dan drives her home. Silence stretches between them as she sits in the passenger seat, staring out the window, but seeing nothing. She still clutches the small box in her hand, her knuckles white as her grip on it tightens. He fidgets every now and again, taking a breath like he might say something, but never does. What can he say? Nothing. Nothing anyone can say can make this better.

 

When the car grinds to a stop outside of her house, she can only stare at the empty space where his Corvette would usually be. She must not speak for a long time because eventually Dan breaks the lingering silence.

“You don’t have to face this now Chloe. You’re always welcome to stay at mine until you’re ready.”

She shakes her head because if she runs now, she knows she’ll never stop. She’ll never be ready to face this so she may as well just get it over with. It has to be done. And so, taking a breath, she unfastens her seatbelt with a click and steps out of the car. Dan follows close behind as she makes her way up the path and fumbles with her keys at the door. Her shaking fingers manage to slide the key into the lock and she braces herself as she swings the door open.

There is no cheery greeting awaiting her. No smell of delicious gourmet food wafting through the air. No childish antics for her to grumble about but secretly enjoy. No. There is only a deafening silence. An emptiness that makes her feel so alone. She lingers on the threshold for a long moment, hesitant to step into the place that reminds her so much of him.

 _Their home_.

She finally takes a step inside and it feels wrong. Dan quietly slips in behind her, making his way to the kitchen as she stands there in the doorway, her gaze on the single, lonely designer shoe on the floor by the breakfast bar. It had been discarded in haste the previous night, its partner nowhere to be seen. Just like her.

Before she realises what’s happening, Dan is leading her to the couch and wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. She grabs at it, still holding the box, and pulls it close, holding her hands to her heart and pulling her legs up beneath her. Dan sits beside her, not too close but not too far away.

“I just can’t believe he’s gone,” she says quietly.

“I know,” he replies, wrapping an arm around her shoulders gently pulling her into him.

The tears fall and she squeezes her eyes shut, leaning into him and soon she finds herself drifting into a restless slumber.

 

~

 

She wakes to hushed voices. For a split second she forgets why she’s asleep on the sofa. For a second, it’s just like any other day. And then it all comes flooding back, hitting her like a tidal wave.

Amenadiel, Maze and Dan all stand, huddled close together in the kitchen. Their, what sounds like a hushed disagreement halts when they notice her rise from the couch. The box has slipped from her grasp in her sleep and now sits in her lap. Turning it over in her hands, she quickly places it on the coffee table and rises to wander over to the group. She pulls the blanket up around her, acutely aware that she hasn’t changed since… well, _earlier._

“Chloe,” Amenadiel greets with a sympathetic smile. He and Maze exchange a sideways glance.

She only manages to bob her head in response, her eyes falling to the floor as the trio eye her cautiously as if afraid the wrong word or too loud a noise may break her. She hates it. Hates being treated like this.

“Amenadiel.” She meets his dark eyes across the kitchen. They are the one feature that he and his brother had in common. “I’m sorry—”

“I know Chloe. So am I. My brother and I didn’t always get along— _Hell,_ we barely ever agreed on anything but, he doesn’t deserve this.”

Maze shakes her head, gritting her teeth. “I should’ve been there.”

An uneasy silence falls between them. Amenadiel doesn’t strike her as seeming too shaken, but she doesn’t think he’s quite accepted that he’s gone. The way he’d referred to him as if he were still here tells her that much.

“Do you want a drink?” she asks as she moves to the coffee pot. Her heart squeezes painfully at the bottle of nice scotch that sits on the counter, but she doesn’t let it show. “Coffee or scotch?” she adds with a very forced, fond smile.

“Coffee sounds great, Chloe. Thank you.”

She makes them all coffee and they settle in the living room. She cradles her drink in her hands, letting the warmth seep into her skin. The sombre silence that’s fallen over the group eventually becomes too much. Too heavy, closing in on her, surrounding her.

 “So, have you thought about... arrangements?” she asks, knowing it’s a difficult but necessary question and not knowing what else to say.

Amenadiel nods slowly. Maze glares at him. Dan looks at the floor. It feels like there’s something going on between them. “A wake. At the penthouse. Tomorrow.”

Chloe nods. “And the funeral?”

Dan shoots Amenadiel what she would say is a warning look. “There won’t be a funeral,” he says carefully.

“What? _Why?”_ she snaps, failing to keep her sudden outrage from her voice.

“Chloe, I know this is difficult, but there are things at work that you can’t understand. Our family… they aren’t exactly traditional when it comes to this type of thing.”

She clenches her fists into balls, squeezing until her knuckles turn white from the pressure, her nails digging painfully into her palms. As much as she understands that his family has the choice in the matter, his friends and loved ones deserve the chance to say a proper goodbye. She deserves a proper goodbye. “What about his b—” she chokes on the word. “What about him? Will there be a grave at least?”

“It’s being taken care of. There’s a family plot. In England.”

_England._

She squeezes her eyes shut, feeling tears prickle the back of her eyes. No funeral, no grave, no _him._ As if everything weren’t bad enough, she doesn’t even get to say a proper goodbye. Tears roll down her cheeks and Dan shuffles closer, pulling her into him. “ _Why?”_ she asks again, barely a whisper.

Amenadiel lets out a weary sigh. “I’m sorry Chloe. This is how it has to be.”

“He wouldn’t want this,” she says, anger rising in her voice. “You all treated him like _shit_ and now you just take him away from the people that actually care about him! How _dare you!”_ She rises from her seat to stand opposite him, radiating confrontational energy. “You have _no_ right!”

He raises his hands in a placating manner. “I know you’re upset, but—”

“But _what?” s_ he roars. “This is hard enough as it is. We deserve the chance to say a proper goodbye.” Her tears blur her vision and she crumbles back down onto the couch, catching her head in her hands.

“Chloe I—”

“Get out.”

“Chloe,” he tries again.

“I said _out,”_ she snaps.

He rises without further argument and makes his way to the door, Maze follows behind him. He pauses in the hallway, turning back. “For what it’s worth, Chloe, I am sorry.”

Chloe says nothing as the door swings shut behind them.

“You should get cleaned up,” Dan says, gesturing towards her blood-stained clothes, “before Trix gets home.”

He’s right. The last thing she wants to do is traumatize her daughter. She’s already been through enough.

Without a word she makes her way upstairs.

 

~

 

“ _Why?_ Why did you tell her those lies?” Maze snaps at him as they leave the Decker household. “He’s not dead, he’s in _Hell_. There’s a _difference_.”

Amenadiel stops, turning to her with a scowl on his face. “What was I supposed to say, Maze?” he spits back at her.

She holds her hands out to the side, closing the space between them until she’s right in his face. “Uh, maybe that he’s not dead? You saw how upset she is.”

“I can’t exactly tell her the truth, Maze. Humans are not _meant_ to know divinity and I can’t have her asking questions about why there’s no body.” He pauses and then adds, “I did what I had to.”

“Don’t you always,” she snarks with a disgusted noise. “He’s going to do everything he can to get back here and you know that.”

“But what if he doesn’t Maze? What if he can’t? We both know it wasn’t exactly easy for him the first time and he had you. Now he has no one.” He pauses. “What’s worse? To let her believe he’s dead so she can move on with her life or let her live in the hope that one day he _might_ come back? Can’t you see I’m doing this for her?”

“He will be back.” She turns and strides away from him.

 

~

 

Chloe leans against the cold tile of the shower wall. Water cascades around her. A white puffy cloud of steam fills the room, soaking everything it touches. She has the water as hot as she can stand it. Just how Lucifer likes— _liked_ it. It near scolds her skin, painfully prickling with each drop of water, but at least she can feel something that isn’t grief or sadness or just plain emptiness. Something to take her mind off how much she misses him.

Her legs feel weak beneath her and she lets herself slide down the wall, coming to rest on the floor of the shower, pulling her legs up to her chest.

Remembering the last time she was in this shower is too much. When she closes her eyes, she can almost feel his hands on her, almost hear his voice. For a moment she can pretend like nothing has changed, but it only makes it all that more difficult to open her eyes and face her harsh, new reality.

 

When she re-emerges from the shower she feels fresher on the outside at least. The clean comfortable clothes she wears do little to soothe her aching heart though. She heads down the stairs and finds Dan still sat on the couch flicking through his phone. He stands up, awkwardly shoving his hands in his pockets when she stops at the bottom of the stairs.

“I, uh….” He shifts nervously on the spot. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to stay or not.” When she doesn’t answer he asks, “Are you okay?”

And what a stupid question that is. “ _No Dan_ ,” she snaps, but immediately feels guilty for it. He’s only trying to help after all. “I’m not okay. Not at all.”

He moves closer, touching her shoulder in a futile attempt to offer her some kind of comfort. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I just don’t know how this could have happened. How I could let it happen. It just—” A sob escapes her, wracking her whole body. “It all happened so fast.”

Dan pulls her into his arms, cradling her head against him as she sobs into his chest.

The front door swings open startling them both. She pulls back from him, wrapping her arms around herself and Dan spins on the spot to see who it is.

“ _DADDY!”_ Trixie dumps her backpack at the door and barrels towards her father, clinging to his waist.

Dan seems to falter for a moment before placing his hands on her back. “Hey monkey!” he says in a put-on cheery tone, shooting her a cautious glance whilst the girl is preoccupied.

Fuck. She has to tell Trixie. How is she supposed to tell her daughter that her best friend is— _Oh God._

She can’t do this.

“Mommy?” She has pulled away and is now staring up at her, her little brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong? Where’s Lucifer?”

Oh, and if her heart wasn’t breaking into a million pieces she’d be proud of her inquisitive little monkey. “Trixie-babe,” she bends down taking her daughter’s hand and leads her to the couch. Grabbing Miss Alien, she places her within Trix’s reach, remembering her training on how to deal with children and trauma. “There’s something I need to tell you and I need you to know it’s okay to get angry or upset.”

“Did something happen to Lucifer? Is he okay?”

“No, Monkey. A bad man was trying to hurt people and Lucifer tried to stop him, but he got hurt as well.” She can’t stop the tears that run freely down her face.

Her brown eyes go wide. “Is he in hospital? Can we go see him?”

“He’s—” She stifles a sob, doing the best to compose herself, to be strong for her daughter. She pulls her closer into her side. “We tried to help him but he was hurt too badly. He—” She sniffles, blinking back the tears and does everything she can to keep the wobble from her voice but fails miserably. “He didn’t make it.”

Trixie’s face scrunches up in confusion as she looks up at her. “He’s dead?” She asks slowly.

She nods, swallowing her sorrow at it being so blatantly said when everyone else has seemed to skirt around the words. “I’m sorry, Monkey, I really am. I wish it wasn’t true. It’s okay to be sad or angry, it’s normal to feel that way.”

The girl frowns. “You shouldn’t be sad Mommy. Lucifer is the _Devil_ , he can’t die. He told me so,” she adds, nodding firmly.

“Trix—” She begins, before her daughter cuts her off again.

“He’ll be back. He wouldn’t leave us. Not _ever!”_ she proclaims with a beaming smile.

Chloe can’t hold her tears back any longer. Her heart aches at her daughter’s child-like belief in him. She can’t believe he’d ever leave them and in some way she envies that.

Dan swoops in, sending Trixie to go do her homework in her room and sits down on the couch next to her as she cries her eyes out for what feels like the hundredth time today.

“What am I supposed to tell her, Dan?” she asks in desperation. She really doesn’t know how to deal with this at all. She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to deal with it herself never mind her daughter who seems so hopeful that he will be back. Whatever they tell her she is going to end up heartbroken and Chloe doesn’t know of she can handle that as well.

“I’ll talk to her, okay? It’ll be okay, Chloe. You’ll get through this.”

She turns to him, her mouth downturned, lip trembling. “What if I don’t want to Dan? I don’t want to just _move_ on…. I don’t want to forget him.”

Dan has no words for her, instead he pulls her into his arms. “Do you want me to take Trix for a while?”

“No,” she answers quickly. “We shouldn’t change things, it’ll only make it harder for her in the long run.” She knows it’s the truth, but it also means she won’t have to be alone. She doesn’t want to be alone.

 

She doesn’t sleep that night. Her eyelids are heavy, her head achy, but slumber remains out of reach. The buzz of the day’s events too loud, the memories too painful and the cold, empty space in the bed next to her too palpable. A constant reminder of what is missing. The worst part though is the lingering scent of him, a warm mixture of expensive cologne, whiskey and a hint of smoke, that clings to the sheets. Every time she almost drifts off she catches the smell and for a second she forgets that he’s gone, only for a second before it all comes crashing back down again.

After a full night of tossing and turning she finally gives up on sleep. The red letters on the alarm clock softly illuminate the room, telling her it’s 05:56am. With a yawn, she slides out of bed, pulls a comfortable, too-long jumper over her head and ambles downstairs, making a beeline to the coffee maker.

She sits at the kitchen table for a long time, nursing her mug and staring down at the little black, velvet box in front of her. She hasn’t opened it yet even though she knows what it contains. It just hurts too much to think about, she doesn’t know how she would handle actually seeing it.

He’d been so nervous, she’d known there had been something going on with him, but this… she’d never expected. She did want it, but she knew he wasn’t the type and had accepted that it wasn’t going to happen. To think now that he was going to— It’s too much.

She loved him— She _still loves him_ with everything she has and accepting that he’s gone feels like it’s destroying her. Every “I’ll make it up to you” and every time she’d told him later instead of living in the moment hangs heavy on her shoulders. She’d taken what she’d had for granted and now she’s suffering because of it.

Her fingers twitch around the box and finally she opens it. No longer will she wait until later. Her breath catches as she sees the ring inside. It’s beautiful. An elegant silver band set with what she thinks is a black sapphire, a smaller sparkling diamond at either side. It strikes her as resembling his own ring. She gently takes it out of the box, tears flowing freely over her cheeks, and inspects it further. An inscription is engraved into the simple band.

_“I will love you always – L”_

And once again she breaks out into sobs, clutching the ring tight in her fist.

 

The day passes relatively quickly. She doesn’t take Trixie to School, instead calling to inform them of their bereavement. They watch movies snuggled on the couch together and she tries, if only for Trixie, to not recall all the times when they’d done this together with him. She feels like she’s running on auto pilot. Remaining emotionally detached from her actions just to get through the day.

When the evening finally swings around, she dresses for the wake. She picks a simple, black dress that she knows he loved her in, black heels and a light jacket. Her hair left down, caressing over her shoulders in light, golden waves. Light make-up and only the important pieces of jewellery, the necklace made from the bullet she’d shot him with hanging around her neck. She debates sliding the ring onto her finger. If he’d have gotten the chance to ask, she would’ve said yes. There’s no doubt in her mind about that. But it feels wrong without him here. After much deliberation, she slips off her necklace and places the ring on it. It hangs next to the bullet, and her heart.

 

The wake is difficult. She listens with half an ear as her friends talk, sharing stories about him, but her gaze remains fixed on the piano. The sleek, shiny top is coated in a thin layer of dust. Another reminder that he hadn’t been here in some time, hadn’t played the instrument he loved so much because of her. It hurts. Being here hurts.

When she’s given the opportunity to talk, she almost turns it down. Words aren’t enough to express what she felt— What she still _feels_ for him. Dan squeezes her hand. Ella gives her an encouraging smile and somehow she gathers her strength and stands.

“Lucifer,” she starts, staring down at the gleaming marble floor. If she looks up at all their faces she knows she will cry. “Lucifer was a _good_ man.” She pauses, collecting her thoughts. People shuffle awkwardly. “It’s funny, you know. I couldn’t stand him when we first met. Now I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. He was everything to me and Trixie. He was my best friend…” she trails off, blinking back tears. “I miss him _so_ much.”

 

She leans on the bar after it’s all over. After all the speeches are done and everyone else mills about chatting, sharing stories of their time with him. She’d smoothly extracted herself from it all, grabbing a tumbler and filling it with his favourite scotch, hanging on the side lines as her friends reminisce. It had become too much for her, too painful to talk about without breaking into tears. Linda gives her a sympathetic, knowing nod from across the room. Even being here was hurting her. She just needs space, a moment to breathe and thankfully they all seem to pick up on that.

Except Maze.

She comes and leans on the bar next to her, staying silent at first. After a few beats she says, “He left you everything, you know.”

“What?” she asks, trying to comprehend the words.

“In his will,” she clarifies. “His money, his properties. Even Lux.”

She swallows against the lump that’s formed in her throat. “What about his family? Amenadiel? You?”

Maze sighs. “He made me. That was enough. He knows I don’t want his stuff. There’s only one thing I want.” Her gaze falls distant, wistful even, before she snaps herself out of it and continues. “As for his family, he doesn’t love them. Not like he loves you and the lil’ human.”

“Oh.”

They fall into a companionable silence as she really doesn’t know how to process the information she’s just been given. Maze grabs a glass and pours herself a drink. For a while they just sit like that, sipping their drinks until she puts her hand in her pocket and pulls something out, dropping it on the countertop. “Here.” She pushes the ring towards her. His ring. The one he was never without in life. The one that goes so perfectly with her own. “Look after this for him, Decker.”

And with that she downs her drink and strides away, leaving a confused Chloe in her wake.

 

~

 

Two weeks pass. The feeling off loss doesn’t fade. Everywhere she turns there’s a reminder of him. Everything holds a memory. Of them cuddling on the couch watching movies, of having breakfast in nothing but their underwear the morning after and laughing like teenagers as he attacked her with kisses. He made every moment count. Lit up her world and now he’s gone, the world seems duller than it had been before. She’s tasted bliss and now she has to live knowing she probably never will again.

She tries to stay strong for Trixie, going through the motions of normalcy despite the immense emptiness inside her. It’s the times when Trixie’s gone to bed that are the hardest though. The quiet is almost deafening and it makes her feel so alone.

Almost every night she curls up on the couch, flicking through the pictures of them together on her phone. Remembering all the times they’d spent together. Trying to picture every touch, every embrace, every kiss. If only to imagine for a second that she’s there and not here. Not alone.

One night, she sits on the couch, the same as any other, an untouched glass of wine on the table in front of her, a blanket pulled up close. She dozes peacefully, her fingers idly touching the ring that hangs around her neck. When she drifts, she sees his face, his deep brown eyes glistening as he beams at her. Hears his voice.

_“Chloe….”_

She wakes with a start at a loud thump outside the door. It takes her a moment to realise where she is. Another thump comes.

And then a groan followed by, “C-chloe…” in an all too familiar voice.

Maybe she’s still dreaming? But, no, this feels too real.

Maybe it is.

She can let herself hope. If only for a moment.


	3. Wicked Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer finds himself in Hell and does everything in his power to get back to Chloe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The world was on fire  
> No one could save me but you  
> It's strange what desire  
> Will make foolish people do  
> No I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you  
> And I never dreamed  
> That I'd lose somebody like you"
> 
> Lyrics from 'Wicked Game' there are lots of versions but the Chris Isaak one is my favourite.

Lucifer hates dying. Well, it’s not dying per se. Still hurts just as much though. This time it hurt all the more because Chloe was there. The look on her face as his life slipped away from him, it had been enough to break his heart. Something that he hadn’t thought possible. She doesn’t know the truth. He should have told her. Of the regrets he’s collected in his long life, that is the biggest because now the woman he loves believes him to be dead. Gone from this world, this universe, permanently. All because he was too afraid to tell her the truth.

They were happy. For once in his life he was actually, truly happy. Now that’s gone. He doesn’t know for how long, but he knows that it is not for good.

He will get back to Chloe if it is the last thing he does.

For a moment there is nothing but black and then it clears as his soul crosses the threshold into Hell. He takes a breath as he steps onto the dark brimstone of the infernal plane. The heat burns his lungs. Ash falls, acrid smoke fills the air, stinging his eyes. A wicked sense of déjà-vu overcomes him. In the past few years this seems to have become a habit, coming here. Occupational hazard of being around the Detective he supposes.

Towering pillars loom around him. The oppressive darkness is stifling. At one point he would’ve called this place home. He hadn’t liked it, but it was the only place he had. That’s not true anymore though. He has L.A, Lux and, most importantly, the Detective. Apparently home doesn’t have to be a place but can be a person. He understands that now.

His hand ghosts over his white shirt, where just moments ago he’d been shot multiple times, where _her_ hands had rested on him. Now though, there is nothing. Just the thick cotton of his designer shirt and a lingering ache in his stomach where the bullets had landed.

Slowly, he walks down the twisting corridors of Hell. The place hasn’t changed at all. Screams of damned souls drift through the air as they’ve always done only this time, they bring him a sense of despair. With them comes a vivid reminder of the last time he’d been here. Of the things he’d done. He remembers _his_ door. The music flowing from within, the penthouse behind it. And his brother. Uriel. Who he killed.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to forget. He can’t show weakness here. This place will only use it against him, and he can’t become trapped again. He’ll never get back to Chloe if he does. To his horror though when he opens his eyes the door is beside him. He can hear the music from the other side.

It draws him in. His hand involuntarily takes a hold of the handle.

 _Resist!_ He has to resist.

For a moment he does. Struggling against the power this place has over him, over his guilt. It’s too much though. His hand strains as he pours his last ounce of energy into keeping his hand still, to not opening the door. If he does, he knows this will be the end. If he enters that room there is no turning back. No happy ending.

It’s no good though. His guilt is too much. He’s too weak from the trip downstairs. Powerless to resist any longer, he presses down on the handle and—

_“Lucifer. I love you, with all my heart. I will love you always.”_

He freezes. Chloe. He can hear Chloe. She’s talking to him.

Blinking back his surprise, he shakes his stupor, sees his hand on the handle and jerks away as if the metal has scolded him.

What is he doing? He had to kill Uriel, he was going to kill Chloe and Mum. He had no choice. He stumbles backwards from the door until his back hits the hard stone of the corridor. He has to get back to Chloe. Taking a steadying breath, he pulls his gaze away from the door— _His door_. The music fades away as he picks himself up and leaves it behind, venturing deeper into the depths of Hell.

 

He strides through the long corridors, destination clear in his mind. Getting out of here won’t be easy, it wasn’t easy the first time and he’d had Maze. This time he’s alone and weaker. Crossing into the infernal plane in such a manner expends energy. Hopefully he has enough left in him to get back home without a hitch. He continues down the corridor, it seems quiet. Too quiet. He’d expected demons to respond to his presence, but he sees nor senses no one. That’s good. Not having to deal with rowdy demons with unknown agendas will save time. After all who knows how they would receive him. So much time has passed down here since he left, the politics will have shifted completely by now.

“Well, well, well.” A sly, raspy voice comes from the shadows, stopping Lucifer in his tracks. “Look who we have here. I told you I felt something, Ab.”

“Shut up, Mol,” another voice hisses.

Lucifer recognises the pair immediately. Lesser demons he formerly commanded. He straightens himself, lifting his chin and casts an intense glare their way. Hopefully they will act the spineless cowards that they are, and he can intimidate them into leaving him alone. “Abaddon, Molech,” he greets cautiously in turn.

“Lucifer,” Abaddon replies, stepping out of the shadows to reveal his sharp, inhuman features.  

Lucifer arches an eyebrow at him. “Not Master? Lord of Hell?”

“You left us,” Molech snaps, stepping out to stand just beside Abaddon’s shoulder. The smaller demon was always a coward, hiding behind those more powerful than himself. Lucifer can hardly blame him, with a grotesque figure like that and a filthy cow’s head he’d hide too. “I ‘eard you fell in love with a filthy human.”

Fire rages in his eyes and he takes a menacing step toward the demon, his lips curling into a nasty snarl. “You will not _disrespect_ me,” he snaps with malice in his voice. It’s a feign, the best he has. Hopefully enough to deter the errant demons. If they decided to attack him now though, he’s not sure he has the strength to fight them off.

Molech shrinks, slinking further behind Abaddon who just laughs, a nasty, vicious sound in his face. “I can smell your weakness from a mile away,” he says slowly, a smirk on his face, his piercing green, slit-like eyes boring into him. “The old Lucifer would’ve torn him limb from limb for talking out of turn. Pathetic,” he spits.

Abaddon unsheathes a curved blade from the tight leather waist band of his armoured trousers and holds it out in front of him. “Come on, we can take him to Azazel and it’ll surely gain us favour with the _rightful_ king.”

“ _Azazel?”_ Lucifer scoffs incredulously. “That spineless cretin has taken the throne? Bloody Hell, things really have gone downhill.”

“Silence worm,” Abaddon spits, lunging forward, pressing his knife to Lucifer’s throat.

Lucifer laughs. “You think I’m scared of you?” As he speaks, he presses a finger to the end of the blade, slowly manoeuvring it away from his neck. “Did you forget I _made_ you? I know all your weaknesses so, run along little demon, before you get hurt.” If he’s careful, he can get out of this without a fight.

Or not.

“You never used to talk this much,” the demon snarls, swiping his blade through the air. Lucifer side steps, narrowly missing the blow. He takes the opportunity to grab the demon’s arm and squeeze until he hears a sickening crack, making his hand go limp and causing the blade to clatter to the stone floor.

Molech takes the opportunity to make his own attack, catching Lucifer’s arm with his heavy, iron morningstar, tearing through cloth and flesh leaving a nasty trail of red in its wake. He stumbles backwards, hissing in pain. The distraction gives Abaddon time to recover and he retrieves his blade from the floor, advancing towards him.

Lucifer holds his arm against him and unfurls his wings, gritting his teeth as the demons lash out with their weapons. Molech manages to catch him in the stomach with his Morningstar before he can swipe them away with his wings.

His movements are sluggish, his already low energy reserves depleted more by summoning his wings and his body weakened by the blood loss from his arm and stomach. He manages to get a couple of good hits on both demons before Abaddon gets lucky and plunges his curved blade into Lucifer’s side. He tenses against the pain. It hurts like Hell, but he will not show further weakness to these demons.

His vision blurs and he stumbles forward as he feels heat gush from him. His head spins as he makes a half-hearted attempt to go for Abaddon’s neck with his razor-sharp feathers. Black spots cloud his sight. Abaddon simply cackles as Molech swings his Morningstar one last time delivering a blow to his head, and then the world goes dark.

 

Lucifer wakes slowly. The world around him hazily fades in. A blinding pain splits through his head and he feels himself wince.

_“You imbeciles, he’s no good to me dead! You better hope he lives.”_

He doesn’t know where he is or which way is up, but he can’t move. Something he can’t see binds him, restricting his movements. Something heavy and cold at his wrists and ankles. A dull, throbbing pain resonates within him. He can’t summon the energy to try to move or even open his eyes, he just floats until he slips away into the darkness again.

 

When he wakes again, there’s someone near him. His head still pounds but thought comes much more easily. He’s in Hell, he’d fought with demons and in his weakened state, had lost. He tries to stretch his limbs but pain washes over him, eliciting an involuntary groan from his lips and causing his head to swim. He’s held almost vertically, his arms stretched uncomfortably above his head, which hangs down, his chin almost resting on his chest.

“Look at that, he’s not dead. Count yourselves lucky.”

Something hot trickles down his face. A cold hand grabs his jaw and squeezes until it’s painful. Hot, foul smelling breath ghosts across his face as whoever holds him leans in closer.

“Wakey, wakey Morningstar,” the demon whispers in a playful tone. “I know you’re awake, no use in pretending.”

Lucifer cracks his eyes open a fraction to see piercing yellow eyes staring back at him. He tries his best to ignore the black spots that cloud his vision. “Azazel,” he croaks, his voice wobbling more than he would like. Showing weakness to demons is never a good idea, especially not to Azazel, the treacherous, back-stabbing bastard. He used to be one of Lucifer’s higher-ranking demons, though he always kept a close eye on him. He always was one to pounce at the first chance to gain power, no matter who he had to betray.

Azazel smiles, wide and altogether sleazy, revealing four sets of jagged, sharpened teeth. “There you are. I told them you’d be back eventually and when you were, we would be ready.”

“R-ready? Ready for what?”

The demon chuckles. “Why, to capture you, of course!”

“What—” A spluttery cough wracks his frame, sending tendrils of white, hot pain throughout his body. For a second his vision goes black, all that permeates it is the unnatural yellow glow of Azazel’s eyes staring intensely at him. Hot, wet liquid splatters his lips as the metallic taste of blood fills his mouth. He fights to stay awake, to figure out what Azazel wants with him so he can leave this place and get back to his Chloe.

“You really are weak, aren’t you? I couldn’t quite believe it when they said Abaddon and Molech had captured you. Those clowns,” he laughs, a nasty, guttural noise. “Being in that filthy place has changed you, Lucifer.”

He blinks a few times, regaining his senses as his vision clears. “W-what do you want with me?” he manages.

The demon laughs again. “Isn’t it obvious?” He straightens, holding his hands out to his sides and turns, gesturing to the area around them. It gives Lucifer a second to look at himself. His arms and legs are bound in heavy, metal chains. He strains against them slightly, testing the strength. They are hell forged and seem to have no lock or seam that he can see. Only glowing red inscriptions that he can’t make out. “Hell is at war, Lucifer,” Azazel continues. “Every legion thinks that _they_ have the rightful claim to the throne. With you as my prisoner, there is no doubt that they will all kneel before me! Azazel, the true ruler of Hell!”

Lucifer pays only half a mind to the demon babbling on about ruling Hell. He honestly couldn’t care less who runs this horrible place, as long as it isn’t him. He just wants to leave, get back to Earth. His home. His Chloe. Whilst Azazel is distracted, he squirms against the chains. When he does the metal seems to burn his skin and he lets out a pained yelp, attracting the demon’s attention.

“Don’t bother trying to escape, we made those especially for you. Struggling will only result in you hurting yourself.” He pauses for a moment, a wicked, sinister smile creeping to his lips. “On second thought, struggle as much as you like.”

“I can make you the rightful king,” Lucifer says quickly. “I have no qualms with you Azazel. There is no need to hold me here.”

Azazel’s smile grows. “Oh, but there is! Don’t you see? The hellions will see _me_ , the mighty Azazel, has captured _you_ , Lucifer Morningstar, former ruler of Hell, the Big Bad Devil himself and they will bow before me.” He steps forward, leaning down to take his face in his hand once again. His sharpened, claw-like nails dig into his skin as he squeezes. “ _You_ will be _my_ prisoner and you _will_ suffer,” he snarls, his lips curving into a nasty smirk.

 

Eventually Azazel leaves him alone. The room he’s held in is a cell, small and stone, not one of the human ones. He’s never seen this place before, perhaps it’s new. Perhaps Azazel wasn’t lying when he said they’d been waiting for him. Perhaps this is his cell now.

The door to the cell is made of wrought iron bars, he can see the two lowly demons standing outside that Azazel has commanded to watch over him.

He struggles against the heavy chains that constrict him. With each movement they scrape and sear his flesh. He grits his teeth against the pain and ignores the tears that stream down his face, the fuzziness that fills his head. After a while his wrists become raw and bloody, blood runs down his arm and drips, pooling on the stone floor. It’s no use. Whatever they’ve done to these chains, it is enough to hold him.

With each hour that passes his hope dwindles away. Has he really seen Chloe for the last time? His heart aches at that, perhaps hurting him more than all his other injuries. Over his long existence he’s grown used to the inevitability of having to endure a great deal of physical pain whether by the hand of his Father, his siblings or unruly demons. Eventually it would happen. But ever since meeting a certain human, Chloe Decker, he’s learnt so much more. Human emotions, nasty little things they are, had always eluded him until he’d met her. They still perplex him deeply, but he’s still learning. Now he’s learning that they can hurt more than any knife to the gut ever can.

Someone he’d once known had said, _“’tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”_ But is it? Love… he loves Chloe and while it had lasted it was… incredible, overwhelmingly, breathtakingly brilliant. There aren’t enough words in all the languages that ever have or ever will exist that can describe the way he feels about her. But he knew it wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ last. They were doomed from the start. He just didn’t think it would end like this. So soon. They could’ve had so much more time….

Now he’s just left with this horrible feeling. Like emptiness but worse. Like his heart has been ripped out of his chest. He’s hollow and it _hurts_ so much more than he ever could have imagined. A single tear rolls down his cheek. Without Chloe there’s no point. Life is meaningless. He’d rather be dead than feel like this. Maybe it’s what he deserves though. Maybe this was his Father’s plan all along, to show him true happiness and then tear it away.

The ultimate punishment.

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been trapped there when Azazel comes back. Hours. Maybe days. The demon guard outside has changed several times since.

“Get him down from there, it’s time,” he tells the guards. “Time for them to see my claim and soon, soon I will sit on the throne of Hell.”

The lowly demons free his chains from the wall and he immediately collapses into a pile on the floor. They roughly grab his arms and haul him to his feet, somehow shortening the chains so his arms are securely tied behind his back and his legs have just enough movement to allow him to shuffle along. He doesn’t though. He remains limp in their hold, refusing to offer them any help.

Azazel sighs wearily. “Giving up the last of your dignity, are we? Not that you ever had much you filthy Angel.” With a dismissive wave of his hand he adds, “Drag him.”

The demon’s grip tightens, pulling him to his feet and just close enough to Azazel’s face so that when he lunges forward, his head connects with the demon’s, surprising him. It makes pain explode in his head, but it’s worth it to see the look of shock on the smug bastard’s face.

Azazel holds his nose and regains his composure, delivering a firm blow to the side of Lucifer’s head that makes him dizzier and causes his feet to go from under him. He doesn’t fall though, the demons still hold his arms in vice-like grips. Another blow comes and another. Through the blur of red and black and pain, Lucifer can see Azazel’s face contorted in anger. It soon becomes too much, the blackness takes a hold and he slips away into oblivion.

 

When he wakes again the noise is overwhelming. Screams and shouts, hundreds and thousands of them. Unnatural, inhuman sounds fill the air around him producing an ear-splitting din. He’s on his knees. Someone has a hold of the back of his neck. His face hurts. His stomach hurts. But most of all, his heart hurts.  

 _“I have the Morningstar, I am the new rightful ruler of Hell! Bow before me!”_ Azazel’s booming voice cuts through the noise.

The shouts rise to a zenith. It’s deafening. He doesn’t open his eyes. Just lets himself drift into the darkness once again.

 

He’s being dragged again. His feet scrape along the floor. Two demons huff and puff as they pull him along. He groggily cracks his eyes open to stare down at the stone floor. When they stop someone pulls him to his feet and holds him up by the collar of his ruined white shirt. Azazel.

“You’re awake. Good.”

Lucifer just grumbles in response.

The demon smiles triumphantly. “I wanted you to know that I am king, your throne is mine now.”

“D-don’t… care…” he manages to mumble.

Azazel just sniffs in annoyance. “I thought as much. Oh well, it’s of little consequence to you anyhow. You’ll spend the rest of your days suffering for what you did to us. For _leaving us._ ” He moves to the side allowing Lucifer to see the iron door that he’s stood by. “ _This_ is for you. You will remain here for the rest of your days. Tortured by your own guilt _and_ more.”

He presses a hand against the door and it swings open. “Enjoy,” he laughs as he easily throws him into the room.

 

First there is nothing but darkness as the door swings closed behind him. And then a light appears and in a flash he’s in the penthouse. He knows what’s going to happen next. He can feel the inevitability of it because he’s been here before, hasn’t he? He looks down at his hands and the chains that were there a second ago are gone. When he looks up Uriel is in front of him. He feels the weight of the blade appear in his hand, his eyes fixed on his brother.

“Hello again, Luci,” he says.

“Uriel,” he murmurs, shaking his head, “I’m sorry.”

And then he’s plunging the blade into his brother’s stomach and it hurts just as much as the first time. “I’m sorry,” he says again, his voice shaking. “I can’t— I didn’t mean to.”

Blood coats his hand making it slick on the blade. Horrified at his action he pulls away jerkily. “I’m sorry.”

He remembers this from his last trip to Hell, when he’d retrieved the antidote formula from Professor Carlisle. It had happened over and over again. He was unable to stop himself. He waits for the blade to reappear in his hand, waits for Uriel’s smart-arse remark, but neither come. No, Uriel’s body slumps lifelessly to the ground before him, the blade still buried in his stomach up to the hilt.

Lucifer frowns, his grief and guilt momentarily clouded over with confusion. Until he hears her voice.

“Lucifer?”

He spins on his heel to see Chloe stood by the open elevator doors, a look of horror on her face. Her perfect blue eyes sparkle as she regards him and he knows she’s not real but, he can’t help himself. He steps towards her, reaching a hand out. “Chloe,” he whispers softly.

She steps backwards, terror in her features. She’s scared of him. It’s not real. He squeezes his eyes shut and tells himself that over and over, but oh it feels _so_ real.

Her eyes flit between him and the body on the floor behind him. He’s suddenly very aware of the stark red blood staining his hands. “You killed him,” she says, horrified.

“I didn’t have a choice, he was going to—”

“You’re a monster.” She holds her hands close to herself, stumbling backwards towards the elevator, shaking her head like she can’t believe what she’s just seen. Like she doesn’t want to believe it.

He feels his heart shatter into a million pieces. Chloe thinks he’s a monster. “Chloe please—”

“No,” she says adamantly shaking her head. “Stay away from me.”

She backs away into the elevator and he doesn’t pursue her because he _is_ a monster. He killed his own brother. He doesn’t deserve her. So, he lets her go despite how much it hurts his already aching heart, despite how it tears his soul to shreds. And she leaves.

He doesn’t have time to wallow before the loop starts again. He kills his brother and Chloe runs from him. Every time it hurts just a little bit more.

 

He doesn’t know how long it goes on for, stuck reliving the same moment over and over again. It feels like an eternity. He’s overcome with guilt for killing his brother and grief for losing Chloe. Escape isn’t even on his mind anymore. The moments he lives become his reality, forgetting that outside of this place is the real Chloe that he needs to get back to until he hears her voice.

_“Lucifer. Lucifer was a good man. It’s funny, you know. I couldn’t stand him when we first met. Now I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. He was everything to me and Trixie. He was my best friend… I miss him so much.”_

He freezes mid lunge. “Chloe?” Chloe, the _real_ Chloe is talking to him and he can hear her. “Chloe….” This isn’t real. Uriel isn’t real. He had no choice, he was protecting Chloe. The blade drops from his now limp fingers and clatters to the floor.

Uriel— _Fake Uriel_ stares back at him. “Luci?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, I don’t belong here. You,” he waves his arm at Uriel, “you were going to kill Mum and Chloe. I stopped you. I don’t belong here….” He stumbles towards the elevator, distress weighing heavy on his shoulders. The elevator doors close behind him, and a door appears. _His_ door. _His_ freedom.

He’s going to escape this place and find Chloe. She thinks he’s dead and she misses him. He can only imagine what she’s going through. The pain and the heartache he’d heard in her voice. It’s enough to keep him going because he will get back to her. He will.

 

He bursts out the door, almost falling over his own feet. Luckily no one guards his door and to his relief the chains that bound him are gone. No one has ever escaped from one of these rooms except him. It would seem that not even Hell can hold the Devil. He doubts that they expected the need for extra security.

The full force of his injuries come rushing back to him all at once. He’s exhausted and hurt but he has to get back to Chloe and he knows exactly where to go to get there. He moves as fast as his body will allow through the winding corridors of Hell hoping that he doesn’t run into any demons along the way. He skids around corner after corner without incident until he almost barrels into a solitary demon.

The demon staggers backwards in shock before swiping at him with his blade catching him in the thigh, cutting deep into his flesh. Lucifer grabs the blade, blood spilling from his hands and kicks the demon, hissing against the pain. The demon falls backwards, releasing his blade. Lucifer quickly grabs the handle and plunges it into the demon’s chest.

Along the way he encounters several more demons most of which fall quickly to his sword out of his sheer determination to escape this wretched place once and for all. He picks up cuts and scrapes along the way that slow him down, but nothing can stop him now, not when he’s this close.

When he rounds one of the last corners, his escape is so close he can feel it. But when he encounters three demons he grinds to a halt. In his current state this isn’t a fight he can win. The trio are much larger and more well equipped than him. He just needs to outrun them or maybe fly. Before he can make a decision, one grabs his arm whilst another lunges at him. Lucifer narrowly manages to avoid the thing being thrust into his side, but is caught by another in the arm. He stabs one of the demons and it falls to the ground. Another slashes at him with a short blade. It catches him across the face, his arm too slow to take the blow. He kicks and hits and swings his sword until he sees a chance to run. An opening in which to escape them and he takes it, dashing around the corner.

Everything hurts but he manages to ignore the pain and run. His life depends on it, after all.

 

Soon his escape is within sight. The secret exit he’d taken with Maze so many years ago. He almost collapses as he falls into it, into the darkness and into his freedom.

 

He’s engulfed in cold, wet, darkness. The salty water fills his mouth and lungs as he struggles against it. He can’t drown but being thrown around in the harsh undercurrents and breathing salt water isn’t a particularly pleasant feeling. The sun seems to have long set and, in the darkness, he can’t tell which way is up so, he grits his teeth and goes with the flow, so to speak.

Eventually he washes up on the beach. By which point he’s exhausted to the point where he can’t lift himself to his feet. Instead he lays, face down, the coarse sand rough against his skin, spluttering up the water he’d swallowed until he’s completely drained, and his body gives in, his consciousness slips away.

 

He’s awoken by the harsh light of the rising sun. He squints against it, confused at first, not knowing where he is. His fingers sink into the ground when he tries to push himself off his belly and he remembers, feeling the sand between his fingers. He escaped. Finally. He’s home. Almost.

It takes everything he has to pull himself to his feet. He aches everywhere, fresh cuts sting with the salt water that’s seeped into them. His legs feel weak beneath him as he staggers across the beach, stumbling over his feet and almost falling several times. His head pounds. He can’t quite see straight. His jacket and shoes are long gone and what remains of his shirt and trousers are torn and stained with blood. He has no money, no phone and he must look a fright. Any humans he encounters will likely run screaming in the other direction. Thankfully it’s early enough that the boardwalk is practically empty. He’s stranded half way across L.A. battered and beaten with no means of getting home other than walking. He’s too weak to summon his wings. Too weak to fly, so walk he shall. If it means getting back to Chloe, it’s worth enduring the pain.

 

The sun has set by the time he finds himself stood in front of his destination. He must’ve walked all day, but it all seems a hazy blur now. He might have passed out at some point. It’s hard to say. It feels like he can’t go on any longer, but his goal is within reach— _Chloe_ is within reach. So, he pushes on, slowly making his way up the path until he reaches the door and all but falls against it. With his last ounce of strength, he manages to hit his palm against the wood before slumping against the frame, narrowly avoiding collapsing into a pile on the floor.

A moan slips from his lips as he feels himself slipping away. He’s come this far, he can’t give up now.

“C-chloe….”


	4. How Long Will I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe opens the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finished! *Happy dance* Just want to say thank you to all of you who continuously support my writing, you are all awesome! Hope you enjoy the end of this story, it's been a blast to write!
> 
> It took me so long to chose a title for this chapter, just because I had so many choices. Eventually I settles on 'How Long Will I love you' by Ellie Goulding. 
> 
> "How long will I give to you  
> As long as I live through you  
> However long you say
> 
> How long will I love you  
> As long as stars are above you  
> And longer if I may"

She stands at the door for what feels like too long a moment. The voice she’d heard sounded like— _No._ It can’t have been. It can’t. It must be her mind playing tricks on her. But she still stands there staring at the door. Somewhere in her rational mind she knows that if she opens the door, she won’t see what she wants to see because it’s impossible. If she doesn’t open the door though, there is still hope. What was that thing Ella had told her once about a cat? Well, whatever, it’s something like that she thinks.

Just when she decides it’s nothing more than her imagination creating what she wants to hear, another thump comes at the door, startling her. There’s definitely someone or _something_ there that’s for sure. Unless of course she’s completely lost her mind which, honestly, doesn’t feel like too much of a stretch right now.

She slowly edges towards the door, hesitating slightly before pressing down on the handle. The door swings open easily as a weight from the outside pushes it. She jumps backwards as something large slumps into her hallway. No. Not something, some _one_.

For a second, she just stares in disbelief at the man lying face down on her wooden floor. Her brain not quite able to comprehend the sight before her. Her eyes trace over the blood and dirt. Then he groans, a hand stretching out as he turns and then she sees. It’s not just a someone, it’s him. He’s dirty and pale and his usual neatly trimmed stubble has grown into more of a beard, but it’s him. _Somehow._

She drops to her knees beside him, taking his face in her hands. And maybe she has gone mad, but she can’t bring herself to care because he’s here. Her Lucifer.

“Lucifer?” she asks as she gently turns his head in her hands. His eyes are slightly open, revealing the dark, soulful depths she remembers, but his gaze is dazed and unfocused. There’s a nasty, jagged cut across his face. His unruly, black hair is slick with blood that coats her fingers when she pulls them through it. Something black— ash maybe? — Joins the blood that stains his clothes. He smells like an odd combination of the beach and a bonfire. She shakes her head wondering what the Hell is going on. What _happened_ to him?

“C-ch… Chlo….” He breathes raggedly, straining to look at her, the slightest hint of desperation in his voice.

“I’m here,” she says as she gently strokes her thumb across his temple. She can’t understand what is happening, or if this is even real, but he’s here with her and it _feels_ real. That’s enough. She cradles his head, holding him against her as he looks up at her. “I missed you.”

He blinks groggily, his face creasing into a sad little pained frown. “’M sorry....”

“No, you have nothing to be sorry for,” she says firmly.

“’ Should’ve… told you…” he wheezes, wincing with each word.

Worry settles in the pit of her stomach. He’s a mess. The wound on his head is concerning to say the least. The sleeve of his shirt is torn to shreds and soaked in dirt and blood to the point where she can’t differentiate skin from fabric. A small pool of blood is slowly seeping into the floorboards by his legs. His eyes flutter shut as his head lays in her lap. She definitely needs to do something.

She reaches into her pocket, sliding her phone out and begins to dial. “What…” he says quietly and then pauses, breathing ragged. “What’re… you doin’?”

“Calling an ambulance.”

His eyes widen a fraction. “No!” he exclaims weakly before a cough wracks his frame. “You can’t.”

She frowns but helps him as he struggles to sit up, pushing the barstool at the breakfast bar out of the way so there’s room for him to lean against it. She can see now that most of the blood is coming from a deep cut in his thigh. “You need help Lucifer.”

He stares back at her, lips parted slightly. He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing down the smooth line of his throat. “I…” he says before trailing off, his face pressing into a tense line.

She can see he has something to say that he’s struggling with, she knows him well enough by now to know that he just needs a minute to sort his thoughts. For someone who never lies, being completely honest is surprisingly challenging it would seem. She just kneels next to him, reaching out to touch his shoulder and smiles softly. Hopefully giving him the reassurance that he needs.

“Chloe,” he eventually says. His face creasing, a fear in his eyes that she knows too well. A fear of rejection. “I’ve never lied to you.”

A long, tense moment lingers between them. She chews her lip in anticipation of what he’s going to say next. She’s not stupid. She saw him _die_. Now either she’s completely lost it, and this is all some elaborate, stress-induced hallucination or he’s been telling her the truth since day one. She knows which theory she prefers.

He takes a breath, steadying himself.

“I really am the Devil.”

Her breath catches in her throat. And then without a second thought she flings her arms around his neck, burying her head in his shoulder and holding him as close as she can to herself. She feels him tense beneath her, feels his pulse race as she presses against his neck. Tears sting her eyes, threatening to spill over.

“I-I…” he stutters. “I don’t understand.” He remains still, stiff in her embrace as she revels in the solidness of him in her arms. Something she never thought she’d have again. She thought she’d lost him forever and it had broken her. Now, he’s here again, finally, after all this time telling her the truth. She pulls back, looking him straight in his wide, brown eyes. Realisation washes over his features. “You still don’t believe me, do you?”

Chloe frowns. Not the realisation she’d hoped for. “What? Lucifer you _literally_ died in my arms.” The words come with a pang of sadness. She hasn’t admitted it fully to herself since it happened and even though he’s sat here in front of her it still hurts. Her lip quivers and a watery smile creeps to her lips. “I’d have to be pretty stupid to not believe you now.”

In any other situation, she’d laugh. But he’d kept this from her, and it _hurts_ , it really does. He’d kept the truth from her, and she’d been devastated as a result. She should be mad, but she can’t quite find it in herself.

“You aren’t scared of me?” he says quietly.

She shakes her head, her smile turning fond. He may be the Devil but he’s still the unsure, awkward man she loves. That hasn’t changed.

He blinks back at her several times before asking with uncertainty in his voice, “You don’t think I’m a monster?”

Her heart squeezes painfully and she takes his handsome, if somewhat dirty, face in her hands. “ _No_ , Lucifer. You are my best friend and I—” Tears flow unbidden down her cheeks now and she sniffles cutting herself off. When she continues her voice is raw with emotion. “I thought I’d lost you for good. I don’t care that you’re the Devil, I’m just glad _you’re back._ I love you and I don’t want to live my life without _you_ in it ever again.”

She breaks down into full blown sobs as he stares back at her stunned. After a few moments she feels his hand touch hers and gently intertwines their fingers. He’s warm and solid beneath her and it feels so good in comparison to the last time she’d touched him this way. When he’d been bleeding to death on the cold, concrete floor and—

She squeezes her eyes shut, banishing the thought. There’s no need for that now because he’s back and she can finally be happy again. Or so she thinks until a cough wracks his body again, splattering his perfect pink lips red with blood. Then her brain goes into panic mode. “Please don’t die on me again,” she half sobs, half laughs.

“’ll try not… to,” he manages with a little smile. As he speaks his eyes lose focus and he leans back resting his head against the counter.

Quickly rising, she almost runs to the kitchen and retrieves the small first aid kit from the junk drawer. Hopefully it’ll be enough. When she kneels back down on the floor next to him his eyes are closed. “Luce?”

He hums in response as she runs her fingers over his cheek.

“Try to stay awake, okay?”

“’M tired…” he mumbles.

“I know,” she says giving him a shaky smile whilst she turns her attention to his still bleeding leg. His trouser leg is torn exposing the wound. Dirt and encrusted blood cover the surrounding flesh. His other injuries aren’t in much better states. She sighs, sitting back. “Do you think you can make it upstairs if I help you?”

He just shrugs weakly. “’ll try.”

Pulling his arm over her shoulders and trying to take as much weight from him as she can they eventually make it upstairs. Not without much swaying and a few close calls of him almost knocking them both over. She leads him into the bathroom and sets him down on the toilet. He doesn’t say anything when she starts removing his clothes which is worrying. She briefly lets her eyes wander over him, cataloguing the collection of injuries both new and old. It’s odd, he’s only been gone two weeks, but some cuts are almost completely healed over. She shakes her head with a sigh as she begins to remove her own clothes.

“What’re you doin’?” he mumbles, his gaze firmly fixed on her as she strips.

She pauses, giving him a bemused smile. “Getting in the shower with you, unless you think you can handle it by yourself?”

He weakly shakes his head. “Wouldn’t want to.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she says as she hauls him to his feet again and manoeuvres them both into the shower, sliding the glass closed behind them. His skin is hot against hers and his heat seeps into her, warming her aching heart. She didn’t think she’d ever feel his unnatural warmth again.

He immediately leans against the wall, letting it take most of his weight from her and flinches when the cold spray hits his skin but doesn’t complain. The water heats up quickly, encompassing them both in a warm cloud of steam. He lets his eyes drift closed as she takes a washcloth and begins to scrub his skin clean. She lets her fingers gently trace over a long scar that marks his stomach and pauses, looking up at him. “What happened to you?”

There’s a long silence. She presumed he either hadn’t heard her or doesn’t want to answer but then his dark eyes meet hers and he says simply, “Hell.” His voice holds a certain sadness that she knows merits further discussion, but he doesn’t elaborate so she doesn’t push him. It’s not the time for that.

The water swirls a dirty pink down the drain as she continues washing him. His soulful eyes remain trained on her as she works, only drifting closed again when she massages shampoo into his wild black hair, kneading his scalp. A content smile graces his face and he subconsciously leans into her hand in a very cat-like motion which has her giggling.

Once satisfied with her work, she places her head on his chest and leans against him listening to the steady, rhythmic thud of his very real, beating heart. His arms snake around her hips and they stand there like that, content in each other’s embrace under the steaming spray.

They stay there until her fingers become wrinkled and his breathing evens out, telling her he’s somehow drifted off. She switches off the water and gently prods him until his eyes flutter open. He groans sleepily but gratefully goes with her when she pulls a fluffy, white towel around them both and leads him through to the bedroom, setting him down on the bed.

She fluffs a pillow and helps him get comfortable before seeing to his wounds. Without the dirt they don’t look as bad as she’d initially thought and to her relief nothing looks life threatening. He winces when she cleans his wounds with the sterilised wipes from the first aid kit, especially when she gets to the cut on his face. That seems to distress him more than anything else, so she gently soothes him, pulling her hand through his damp curls and presses a soft kiss to his temple.

By the time she’s done, he’s soundly asleep. She slides beneath the covers and curls up next to him, draping an arm across his chest and quickly drifts into a peaceful slumber.

 

She wakes, feeling more refreshed than she has done in the past two weeks. The harsh light of the rising sun filters through the partly closed blinds, illuminating the room. There’s something solid and warm beside her. No, not some _thing_ , some _one._ The events of the previous day come flooding back to her and she opens her eyes to see the man she loves in her arms. It wasn’t a dream. It’s real. She squeezes him a little tighter, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. He remains soundly asleep well into the afternoon. She doesn’t wake him and can’t bring herself to move. After being without him she doesn’t want to miss another moment.

It’s almost three when he stirs for the first time, a happy little noise slipping from his lips as he curls his long frame into her embrace and wraps an arm around her. She lazily traces patterns on his well-muscled chest with her finger whilst she waits for him to wake fully.

He grumbles and turns, pulling the sheets close to him, until he’s face to face with her. She can’t help but watch him as he dozes, taking in each of his handsome features. He looks relaxed and she can’t wipe the wide smile from her lips. She’d lost this and now she’s been given a second chance. She sure as Hell won’t take it for granted.

Slowly, he groggily blinks himself awake. His beautiful, dark eyes meet hers and for a second he just stares, their faces mere centimetres apart. A smile creeps to his lips and his eyes sparkle as his sleepiness melts away.

“Chloe,” he breathes.

She presses her lips together as her smile widens, trying to hold back the threatening flood of tears. “Hey,” she manages, plunging her hand into his soft, dark curls, pulling her fingers through. Now he’s awake she’s no longer able to restrain her touches. She lets her hands wander freely over him, sliding over his hip and up his side, trailing feathery touches until she snakes around his neck, pulling herself closer until her lips land on his. She feels him smile against her, one strong hand wrapping around her holding her tightly and encompassing her in warmth. The other somewhere pinned beneath their tangle of limbs. He moves to trail kisses along her jawline and she buries her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” she whispers as his hand combs through her hair. She pulls back to look him in the eyes. “Never do that to me again, okay?”

“I shall endeavour not to die again anytime soon,” he says with a smile, though she can see the uncertainty in his eyes. It’s not something he can control and it wasn’t his fault. She can’t really ask it of him, but she doesn’t want to have to go through losing him again ever. “I am sorry,” he says after a long moment of silence.

She shakes her head, rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, I mean,” he takes a shaky breath and she realises it’s one of those moments where he’s mentally deciding whether it would be easier to run rather than deal with the difficult emotions. Learning that he’s the actual Devil explains a lot about his emotional self. She twirls her fingers into his longer than usual hair silently telling him that she’s there for him. He knows he can tell her anything, now that is truer than ever. Eventually, after what seems like much inner turmoil he spills. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I mean, I did tell you, but I knew you never believed me. I-I was…” he trails off, swallowing hard before continuing, “I was _afraid_ that if you knew the truth you’d be— You wouldn’t—”

“That I wouldn’t love you anymore?” she asks, helping him as he stumbles over his words.

His nod is barely perceptible. The unshed tears that collect in his eyes tell her that he’s still not entirely sure where he stands and that makes her heart squeeze painfully. “I _do_ love you, Lucifer. I will _always_ Love you.”

He looks back at her, eyes wide as if it was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “I… I love you too. Always, Chloe. And longer if I may.”

His words make her heart flutter in her chest. She moves, snuggling up closer to him, meeting him eye to eye and rests her forehead on his. He lets out a content sigh as they sink into each other’s embrace.

Somehow despite everything, the impossible has happened and the world feels right again. She’s lying in the arms of the man she loves with all her heart and she’s happy. Right now, that’s all that matters.

 

They stay like that until a loud growl startles them both. Lucifer looks in shock at his stomach. “Bloody Hell.”

She giggles, a fond smile working its way across her face. “Hungry?”

“Famished,” he answers easily.

She rises from the bed and he sits up to follow her. She quickly places her palm on his bare chest and pushes him back causing him to land with a soft thud in his pile of pillows. “Nope,” she says with a smirk, “you stay right here. I’ll be back.”

He doesn’t protest, simply smiles back at her.

 

When she returns twenty minutes later, she falters in the doorway. He’s curled up on his side, his legs tucked up close to his chest with his long arms wrapped around himself. The sight makes her want to pull him into a hug and never let go. She doesn’t want to think about what he went through in Hell, but she knows eventually they’ll have to talk about it. Just not now.

“Lu?” She sets herself down on the bed beside him, setting the tray filled with all his favourite breakfast foods down on her lap. He wakes with a yawn, lazily stretching his long limbs out under the covers and sits up, leaning against the headboard when she pulls his pillows up, fluffing them a little. She places the tray in his lap and he gives her a beaming smile.

“I could’ve—” He starts before she cuts him off with a firm kiss.

“Eat,” she says as she pulls away, “you must be starving.”

And as if in affirmation, his stomach growls again and they both laugh. She’s made him a stack of pancakes along with bacon, eggs and half a grapefruit. He immediately pours an unhealthy amount of syrup over the pancakes and digs in as she watches on fondly. “Thank you,” he says, talking around a mouthful.

“You’re welcome.” She smiles at him absentmindedly bringing her hand up to touch her necklace as she watches him dig in.

He halts halfway to stuffing a piece of bacon in his mouth. For a second, she thinks something is wrong, he stopped so abruptly. Then she follows his line of sight and realises what he’s looking at so intensely. The two rings hanging around her neck, his and hers, next to the bullet she’d shot him with.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he sighs, his gaze dropping to his lap. “I’ve ruined everything,” he says quietly. “I always ruin everything.”

“No,” she says firmly, taking his bearded chin in her hand, but he doesn’t look up. “Lucifer, look at me.”

Reluctantly he does. His eyes are filled with sadness.

“You didn’t ruin anything, _none_ of this was your fault.”

“But I—”

“No. It wasn’t. Now tell me,” she grabs a hold of the rings around her neck, “why did you have this? I didn’t think you wanted this, Lucifer.”

He looks down, rubbing the space on his finger where his ring would usually sit. “I didn’t think I did either, but I had an… _epiphany_ of sorts.” His eyes shine as he looks up to meet her gaze. “I don’t want anyone but you, Chloe. I want to prove that to you. I-I want to be yours, forever.”

Tears sting her eyes; more pleasant than all of the previous tears she’s shed. Without thinking she moves the tray from his lap and brushes her fingers across his knuckles, taking his hand in hers. It feels at home there, like without it she’s missing something. She pulls him from the bed, ignoring the look of confusion on his face when she makes him stand then removes her necklace and takes his ring, kneeling down in front of him.

“Marry me?”

His eyes go wide. “Isn’t that supposed to be _my_ question?”

She smiles as he stands before her in nothing but his black silk boxer shorts looking completely dumbfounded as she offers his own ring to him.

“Miss Lopez informs me that normal people go to the beach for this sort of thing,” he continues.

“Lucifer,” she says with a smile on her face as he tilts his head to one side looking very much like a confused puppy. “Nothing about us has ever been normal. So…?” She raises her eyebrows in question.

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation. It makes her heart sing.

With shaky fingers she slips the ring onto his hand, it sits a little looser on his ring finger than it should, but he beams at her like she’s given him the sun. He offers his hand to her, helping her up from her knees. She hands him her ring and he takes her hand, slipping it on her ring finger with ease. It fits perfectly.

She throws her arms around him, their lips meeting in a fit of passion.

With the ring on her finger and Lucifer in her arms she feels happier than she has done in a long time.

She feels complete.

 

Later that evening, Chloe stands, leaning against the breakfast bar admiring her fiancés— it feels strange to refer to him as that— lean figure as he moves swiftly around the kitchen preparing their dinner. They’d spent the rest of the afternoon talking about everything he’d not told her, well… everything he had told her that she hadn’t believed. It’s _a lot_ to say the least. Mostly, she’d learnt of everything he’s done for her, when he’d saved her from Malcolm, when he’d gone to Hell to get the formula for Doctor Carlisle’s poison, when he’d saved her— _everyone_ in fact— from his own mother by sending her to another universe (she’s still getting her head around that one).

They’d both cried when he’d told her about Uriel. She had no idea. She knew at the time that something was wrong with him, but he wouldn’t tell her. He’d been convinced that she’d think him a monster and run from him. He hesitates when it comes to talking about what had happened to him in Hell this time. She sensed him being purposely vague and she hadn't pushed him. The wounds are still fresh, she supposed, but he’d told her about his Hell loop. About being tortured with his own guilt over it, about seeing her horrified face staring back at him over and over for what would have been months— because time in Hell moves differently apparently. 

She isn’t scared of him. In fact, it’s quite the opposite, she can’t be more in love with him than she is right now. He’d done all that for her and yes, he hadn’t proved to her that he’s the _actual_ Devil which he could have done because apparently, he really does have wings which she’d made him promise to show her at some point. He’d been afraid though and she understands that. He’s always struggled with fear of rejection, now that makes a lot more sense given that his Dad— _God_ (mind still imploding over that as well) literally threw him from Heaven into Hell and ever since then he’s been vilified.

It’s going to be difficult for both of them to move past the events of the last couple of weeks, but they can do it. They have each other, after all and that’s more than she could possibly ask for.

“Hey, Chlo.” She’d been too lost in her thoughts to hear the front door open and is snapped back to reality when Dan speaks. “You look well,” he smiles as he closes the door behind him and Trixie. “It’s good to see you smiling! I’m glad—”

“Dan, wait—”

They talk over each other as she scrambles to prevent the inevitable train wreck that’s unfolding before her eyes. Dan freezes when he takes another step into the house and spots Lucifer in the kitchen. His keys fall to the floor as his hands go limp. “You— I—” He stammers, his eyes going wide.

“LUCIFER!” Trixie shouts, having followed her dad’s line of sight to spot the Devil behind the cooker and immediately makes a beeline, attaching herself to his waist.

Lucifer chuckles and pats her on the head, smiling down fondly at her.

“I knew you’d be back,” she says, beaming.

Chloe would be smiling as well at the heart-warming reunion if she weren’t so concerned for Dan. All the colour has drained from his face and he just stares at Lucifer, his lip quivering slightly. “Uh, Lucifer,” she says, gesturing to Dan when he looks up.

“Oh dear,” he replies, rounding the breakfast bar, his scrutinizing gaze landing on the other man. “Is he broken?”

She shrugs. “Dan?”

“You’re dead,” he murmurs, a slightly psychotic glint in his eye. He shakes his head a little too vigorously. “This can’t be— I saw you die.”

Lucifer tilts his head and gestures to himself. “Quite alive Daniel, I assure you.”

Dan stumbles backwards a couple of steps, his breaths becoming shallower and more rapid. “H-how?”

“Simple,” Lucifer preens, holding his hands out to the side with a proud little smile. “I am the Devil.”

His mouth opens, he shakily exhales before his eyes roll back in his head and he promptly collapses into a pile on the floor.

“Dearie me, Daniel.” Lucifer tuts, folding his arms. “Fainting? I expected more from you.”

She looks up at him from where she’s crouched down beside Dan. “Don’t just stand there Lucifer, help him.”

“Right. Yes, of course, Dear.”

 

Sometime later, they all sit at the table. Dan still looks a little shell shocked, but insists he’s fine. They all dig in to the lasagne Lucifer has prepared for tea.

“So, you were… in _Hell?”_ he asks hesitantly.

Lucifer eyes him across the table. “Yes, Daniel, do keep up.”

“And your Dad is… _God_. Like actual God?”

The Devil lets out a world-weary sigh and places his fork down on the plate, a clear look of irritation saturating his features. “Obviously.”

Chloe hums. “I guess that makes God my Father-in-law, right? That’s… _weird_.”

“What?!” Dan asks, doing a double take.

“Oh,” She holds out her hand, displaying the gleaming new gem that adorns her ring finger. “I forgot to say, we’re engaged.”

Dan swallows hard, the colour, once again, draining from his face. “You- You’re e-engaged?” he stammers, blinking several times. “To the Devil?”

“Are you going to faint again, Daniel?” he smirks.

“Lucifer,” she snaps, “not helping.”

He takes a breath, steadying himself. “I’m fine Chlo. It’s just a lot, is all. I’m fine.”

The door swings open forcefully causing him to almost jump out of his seat, a high-pitched yelp slipping from his lips. Lucifer bursts out laughing. “Masculine as ever, Daniel.”

Maze stands on the threshold of the house, glaring in intensely. “Lucifer?”

Lucifer’s face falls as he rises from his chair with enough force that it almost topples over. “Mazikeen.”

They meet in the middle of the kitchen, she flings her arms around his neck and he wraps his arms around her, neither paying any heed to the three pairs of eyes in the room watching them.

Maze squeezes her eyes shut. “I thought I might not see you again,” she whispers.

“I’m here now,” he replies softly, his hand rubbing soothing circles onto her back.

She pulls away and takes his face in her hand, her eyes filling with concern as she traces the scar that mars his face. “What happened?”

He sighs. “Hell is a bloody mess, there’s a war Maze. Azazel thought he could use me to gain the throne.”

“Cowardly bastard,” she hisses. “He’ll pay for this.”

Lucifer’s eyes darken as he places his hands on the Demon’s shoulders. “Rest assured, he will regret his actions. I’ll make sure of it.”

Maze nods, her jaw tense.

“Would you care to join us for dinner? I made lasagne.” He gestures to the table. She nods and Trixie lets out a little whoop of joy as she takes the seat next to her.

Chloe looks around the table and smiles. Her odd little dysfunctional family are together again, and she couldn’t be happier.

 

_Epilogue - 2 weeks later_

 

Lucifer stands in front of the bathroom mirror, immaculately dressed in a crisp white shirt beneath a black Armani suit. Hair perfectly coiffed and stubble neatly trimmed as always. He would look perfect if it weren’t for the jagged, red scar marring his face. The thing stretches diagonally from his forehead to his cheek. He hates it. It just serves as a nasty reminder of everything they’ve both been through.

He startles when a hand touches his shoulder. He’d been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t heard her come in.

“Hey,” she says with a fond smile, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. “You look nice.”

He grumbles a little. “Do I though? I look like I’ve been mauled by a _bloody_ bear.”

She sighs and he happily lets himself be turned in her grip until they’re facing each other. Her gorgeous blue eyes twinkle as she stares up at him. “Lucifer, you look perfect. You will _always_ look perfect to me.” She smiles at him, worrying her plush lip between her teeth as she so often does. He loves it when she does that. “Besides,” she adds as an afterthought, “I kinda like it.” A smirk graces her beautiful face as she gently drags her finger just along the edge of the forming scar. “It’s sexy.”

“Really?” he asks in disbelief. Surely she’s just saying it to make him feel better.

“Yeah.” She stands on her tiptoes, resting her hand against his chest and plants her lips on his. They’re soft and warm and she tastes like sweet coffee. They linger there for a long moment as he wraps his arms around her and revels in the gentle passion of the kiss. When she pulls away, she playfully nips at his bottom lip and grins at him. “We’re being completely honest with each other, remember?”

A small chuckle escapes his lips. “Right. I suppose we are.”

“So, first day back at work,” she says, running her hand along the line of his suit. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he quips. “You?”

She nods, smiling. “Yeah, I think it’ll be fine. I just worry about what people are going to say…. What are you going to tell them?”

He quirks an eyebrow, a smirk dancing across his lips. “The truth, Darling, as always.”

“I think Ella will take it better than Dan did, for sure.”

“Oh yes,” he hums, “I don’t think anyone could take it worse than Daniel.” He sighs, running a hand over his lapels and fiddles with his cufflinks. “Come on then, wouldn’t want to be late for our first day back would we?”

She chews on her lip for a moment, her eyes flitting over him. He looks good but, she can’t help but think how much better it would be if his suit were on the floor. Impulsively, she decides to press her lips to his. She feels him tense in shock before relaxing as her hands push his jacket over his shoulders. He responds, exploring the depths of her mouth and then pulls away, looking at her with a silent question.

“I did say I’d make it up to you.”

He chuckles and resumes peppering her skin with kisses. She ruffles his hair, laughing as they tumble into the bedroom. His legs hit the side of the bed and he falls backwards, taking her with him. She’s managed to undo his shirt buttons, exposing his chiselled abs. Her blouse was lost somewhere along the way leaving her in only her bra and trousers. He throws his head back against the bed, letting out a hearty laugh as she lands on top of him.

They still for a moment, their eyes meeting, their laughter dying out but their smiles not fading.

“Chloe,” he breathes. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Lucifer. Always.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, I really hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3
> 
> Also anyone wondering on updates on my other stories, expect an update on Joyriding with the Devil soon and, at long last, the final chapter of Lux Mori next week sometime.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Follow me on Twitter if you fancy having a chat about Lucifer, Deckerstar or anything really [@kaykat666](https://twitter.com/kaykat666). Thanks for reading! (I have a new Twitter because I'm actually an outlaw.)
> 
>  


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